Exchanging Glances
by Disco Inferno1
Summary: On the eve of committing herself to a monastery as a novice, Maura agrees to a "night out" to appease her sister, who is trying to persuade Maura against that decision. That night, Maura meets and embarks on a one night stand with Triple H. At the same time, Triple H has lost his way in the business, a lonely soul in need of someone to remind him what it means to be human again.
1. A Few of My Favorite Things

**_Exchanging Glances _**

**Summary: **On the eve of committing herself to a monastery as a novice, Maura agrees to a "night out" to appease her sister, who is trying to persuade Maura against that decision. That night, Maura meets and embarks on a one night stand with Triple H. At the same time, Triple H has lost his way in the business, a lonely soul in need of someone to remind him what it means to be human again. -"Two"-Shot (I promise this time!)-

**Rating/Warnings: **M in some places. Originally conceived as a one-shot to exorcise some Triple H lust. So, I think you get what's going to eventually happen here. Not a PWP (for the most part).

**Disclaimer: **I do not in any way lay claim to any name or character in the WWE. This is not-for-profit fiction. The only profit received is pure entertainment. Characters of the Kelley-Spencer families and the St. Clare church and monastery, along with other various peripheral characters, belong to Disco Inferno1, 2015.

**Notes:****(1) **If you knew what I do for a living, you would know that I hold religion in the highest esteem. One thing you may not know about me—I teach a Sunday school class at my church _every _week. That's a big hint that this is simply a plot I am exploring in writing. The point of this is that I mean no disrespect to _anyone_ by this story. **_Personalities presented within are not necessarily those of the characters in real life nor are the views presented within necessarily those of the author._**Poetic license has been taken with character personas and television canon. And, yes, in my universe, Triple H still has long hair and Batista's movie career tanked (for plot's sake, not my real wishes for his career).

**(2) **Even though the fic is based on "reality," I have not used wrestlers' real names. I am highly uncomfortable doing so since it feels as if I am writing a fic, for instance, about Benedict Cumberbatch instead of "Sherlock Holmes."

* * *

**Prologue**

The large oaken doors fell shut again but she did not hear them. A girl, barely a woman, stumbled into the nave, tears streaming down her face. She made her way down the aisle haltingly and then collapsed onto a pew, barely containing her sobs because her life had been destroyed by a violent man. But the other woman did not see her grief. An elderly gentleman sat five rows back from the altar, exactly where he and his wife sat for fifty years during mass. He leaned forward, the wood creaking as he laid his forehead on the pew in front of him to inhale the scent of Old English oil, achingly reminding him of his deceased wife. But the lone, silent woman did not smell the oil, as if she had been there long enough to no longer notice the scent. A middle-aged woman slid onto the same pew and pulled her rosary from her purse. She mouthed the words as her fingers worked the beads. The other woman, too, was fingering her rosary but she did not feel the now warm beads.

She could still taste, however. She still tasted the last kiss he left her with, still tasted his skin on her tongue…she still tasted what she was about to leave behind. Maura Kelley had to make a choice. Would she or would she not go through with her plans to enter candidacy to become a nun in the sisterhood of the Poor Clares? Had this one night changed anything? Was she making a mistake if she went through with it? Had she made a mistake last night?

Maura had gone straight from the bed of Hunter Hearst Helmsley to St. Clare's Catholic Church and planted herself on the back pew, desperately seeking an answer to her fall from grace, the greatest indulgence she had allowed herself to ever have.

* * *

**Five Days Earlier**

Maura tossed the remote control to her sister as RAW went off the air. It was a very satisfying night. Triple H had become the number one contender to the Heavyweight championship due to a shocking run-in from Shawn Michaels, Cena had beaten Orton to retain said title, and Rowdy Roddy Piper had made a guest appearance, trading barbs with Chris Jericho. It was as if they had known tonight would be her last show. "The TV is all yours, I'm going to bed," she said with a yawn.

"How many 'Hail Marys' and 'Our Fathers' do you get for watching wrestling?" her older sister, Martine, asked. Martine was the favored among the two of them. She was tall, leggy, and had beautiful blonde wavy hair and blue eyes that everyone loved. She was a fashion magazine editor and had her own townhouse and a string of gorgeous boyfriends. Maura was the mousy sister, average height, average looks…just average. She was the brunette that no one seemed to notice, always feeling like a wallflower. She was jobless, a year out of dual master's degrees, and had only a couple of serious boyfriends in her past.

"Father Michael finally gave up on giving me penance," she replied with a laugh. "He said something about appreciating the human body and athleticism and told me to stop confessing to watching." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "I think he secretly watches it too."

"I cannot believe you actually confessed you watched it," Martine replied with a roll of her eyes. "Aren't you going to miss wrestling?"

"Didn't you miss smoking when you gave it up?" Maura asked, stretching her legs out from under her where she sat on the couch. Her sister shrugged her shoulders with a look that said, 'yeah, so?' "Wrestling is an addiction for me. I should have given it up long ago. I'll have much worthier things to occupy my attention."

"Worthier than Batista's ass?" Martine scoffed, picking up the remote and turning off the TV.

"I…." she trailed off.

"Come out with me Saturday night?" her older sister asked, reaching across the sofa to clasp Maura's hands. She knew Maura would say 'no' but she was bound and determined to make one more attempt to derail her younger sister's plans to become a nun. She had a secret that she was going to spring on the clueless girl on Saturday.

"You know I don't like clubbing and all that," Maura answered, pulling away her hands and rising from the sofa.

"Let me get some friends together and it'll be like a bachelorette party. Even the most faithful women have that last night of partying before they marry. One last 'hoorah' before you go out," Martine explained, grabbing her sister's hand as she passed by to leave the living room.

"I don't think so, Martine," she replied.

"Come on, tight ass, you can always go to confession, do your penance, and be absolved," the older sister countered.

"It doesn't work that way. Besides, Sunday morning is when I present myself for candidacy. You know I'm skipping the house show for that reason," she replied, a little wistfully.

The RAW house show was definitely what spurred this plan. "Stop whining and do this for me. Dad would have insisted."

"And Mom would have applauded me for sticking to my guns," she called over her shoulder as she headed towards the hall for the guest bedroom. She wasn't quite so sure she or Martine was right in what either of their parents would have thought. They were dead six years now, the result of a drunk driver. She had a sneaking suspicion that her father would accuse her of running away from life by joining the sisterhood and that her mother would try to "fix" whatever it was that made her leave any possible semblance of a normal life.

"There is no way they would have wanted you to do this," she exclaimed, throwing up her hands and beginning to pace.

Whatever they thought, Maura was sure she wanted to become a nun. She had no family but her sister, no one to disappoint. No one seemed to notice her around and where better to not be noticed than a convent. She could never decide what she wanted to do with her life and only went on to master's level work because she had yet to decide. After a visit to the convent of the Poor Clares of Perpetual Adoration her senior year of college for a religion course, she began seriously thinking about the possibility. After completing a Master of Arts in Theology while simultaneously earning a Master's of Social Work, which took twice as long as it should have, she was more than ever drawn to disappearing into such a life after a year adrift, wandering where she should be. Through the convent, she would interact with the community, participate in the prison ministry, feed and clothe the poor, minister to the homeless, and even have opportunities to travel to Africa to give aid there. She felt much worthier of living if she was doing this rather than making money so she could acquire things for herself or live a lavish lifestyle. She would rather help those who could not help themselves but she wasn't cut out for the social work sector, terrified of the environments and neighborhoods her internships had forced her into. She didn't have the voice, the command, the confidence to navigate those places.

"You can't say that," Maura replied after a long pause. "You don't know that and you can't presume to know what I think."

"Tell me what you think!" Martine nearly shouted.

"I've explained it all before," she replied. She wasn't exactly a devout Catholic (she firmly believed in birth control, gay marriage, and ordination for women afterall) but she wasn't really not devout either. She attended confession and Mass every week, prayed nightly, believed in Jesus Christ, the Holy Spirit, and God the Father, and enjoyed the study of the Bible and theology. She wasn't one to party, smoke, drink, or date. Yet, her life didn't revolve around God and prayer. That was her first concern about joining the sisterhood but realized that she would come to accept their lifestyle and make it her own so she could survive it in order to find silence and solace and minister to the community. With no other options and, hardly foreseeing a change, she applied for candidacy and would present herself on Sunday morning after Mass to the Abbess at the convent.

"You're not a Jesus freak, so I just don't get it."

"You have everything, Martine. I have my faith and that's it."

"Because you're running away from life and hiding behind faith," she forcefully retorted.

"I'm not having this argument—" she began, but Martine cut her off.

"On Sunday morning," she very carefully stated her proposal," I won't say a word or do anything to stop you if you come with me Saturday night."  
Maura sucked in her breath to reply in the negative before Martine even finished the proposal but she let it out with a sigh when her sister offered no resistance. "Okay." The older woman squealed gleefully, hugging her sister and twirling her in circle. "Mary, mother of God, what have I done," she muttered _sotto voce_.

* * *

Hunter Hearst Helmsley dropped his luggage within steps of entering his hotel room. He rifled through his pockets and dropped change, wallet, and cell phone on the desk as he blew out a deep breath. After shedding his coat, he sat down heavily on the bed and stared at the blank TV screen. Here he was, in his hotel room, while the majority of his friends were out after RAW. Hunter rubbed his face, trying to wipe away the funk that he had been in for weeks.

The wrestler knew he should have joined them—it had been a while. Yet, he couldn't even muster the desire to _want _to be there. He had just gone out with them a couple of weeks ago. Actually, the more the former Heavyweight Champion thought about it, he couldn't say _when _he had last spent time with them beyond RAW and the houseshows. Glancing around the empty room, he tried to remember the last time he had been on a date…hell, when he had sex last. When had he become a hermit?

It wasn't because he was avoiding his ex-wife. She hardly ran in the same circles as his friends. Word backstage this evening was that she was dating Batista—that was a shock. Five star establishments were more their fare. What _was _he avoiding? Other women? Intimacy? Commitment? Watching shallow relationships form before his eyes at nightclubs?

Lately, Triple H chafed at his WWE responsibilities. He showed up four times a week, week in and week out, and, for years, had carried the company despite his divorce from Stephanie. John Cena had emerged as the drawing power over him and Hunter's involvement on TV and public appearances had been reduced somewhat. McMahon approached him to act as a liaison for the wrestlers and administration and be part of the talent relations staff. The rationale from Vince was the amount of respect the talent had for him and his ability to mediate between the bosses and the employees. But now he was tired of so many people looking to him for their stature in the company or whining about the way they were being used on TV. Was he avoiding the other wrestlers and divas for that reason? Had he reached his limit of being around WWE employees? Surely not given his commitment to the industry and the company. But…

Hunter had no idea why he hardly cared about the answers to these questions. When he realized how long he had been sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the blank television screen, he forced himself to rise and undress.

* * *

The week went by quickly as Maura met several times with Abbess and arranged for what little property she had to be sold or given to charities. Martine wasn't making her decision any easier as she promised her sister that she could stay with her for as long as she needed to make another career decision. She made an occasional comment about how interesting fashion was and that her last boyfriend was a photographer who traveled around the world. These were things she had already heard. On Wednesday, she discovered a Peace Corps brochure tucked into her vanity mirror. She tossed it away and another miraculously appeared in her cereal box. By Saturday, she had found a brochure in her sock drawer, on her pillow, in her shoes, in the refrigerator, and even tucked into a toilet paper roll. She quietly threw each of them away.

Martine was home earlier from her job on Saturday than she had anticipated and found her sister reading a book, dressed in a pair of jeans and a loose sweater with her hair pulled back in a braid. "That is _not _what you're wearing out," the blonde announced.

"I'm not looking to hook up, I just want the company of my sister," Maura announced without looking up from her book.

Her older sister dropped down on the couch beside her and pulled the book from her hands. "Do this for me, Sissy," she pleaded.

"Why?"

"Just because," Martine answered, presenting her puppy dog face that no man could resist.

"Make me over," Maura replied with a sigh but then quickly added, "Within reason."

* * *

Maura counted the number of hours she would have left to sleep before Mass in the morning as Martine guided her toward the nightclub. So far, the two sisters had had dinner with three of Martine's friends, who were accompanying them for the evening. Maura knew them but wasn't exactly friends with them. They hadn't said one word about her decision but chatted constantly about work, guys, clothes, shoes… Maura pretended to listen. At least at the nightclub, she wouldn't hear much of what they said. She could sit at a table, watch purses, and watch everyone else make a fool of themselves.

The night crowd was beginning to settle in but they found a booth to claim as their own. The three friends disappeared instantly, leaving their purses behind as Maura expected, and Martine promised to bring back drinks for the both of them. She played through a couple of levels of Angry Birds before her sister returned. "Virgin?" she asked when she set a tall pink drink in front of her.

"Yes," Martine replied with the roll of her eyes. Inside, she smiled. The drink was generally known as a "Paralyzer" depending on who you asked. It had seven different rums but was so smooth, the drinker hardly realized it was alcohol and didn't know what hit them the moment they stood up.

"This is good," she ventured after a few sips as Martine craned her head around for the fifth time.

"Yes," her sister whispered, mentally congratulating herself, when she spied her quarry. "Phone up…now."

"I'm not dancing," Maura bluntly stated as she turned the phone off.

"Okay, fine," she replied and slid out of the booth. She eased out onto the dance floor, keeping eye contact with her sister until she was within a few feet of whom she had been looking for. When she turned away, Maura's eyes cut back down to the drink and another round of Angry Birds, ignoring whoever her sister was trying to get her to notice.

When she had finished her drink, she was beginning to feel a bit more relaxed and shoved the phone back in her pocket. She searched for Martine and her friends. Anica and Tandalea were nowhere to be found. She spotted Deja with a tall, lean guy that looked awfully familiar. They were standing at another booth across the room, blocking her view of their conversation partner, and then both of them took a seat with their backs facing Maura. Deja already hooking up had to be a world record. Then her eyes froze when she realized who was sitting in that booth.

* * *

Triple H still wasn't sure why he was there or at least didn't want to admit it. Nothing had changed since Monday but Randy Orton had all but paid him to come out. Hunter had been feeling guilty since Monday after realizing how much time he had been spending alone. He would still rather be back in his hotel room though.

His skin was still crawling from earlier at the houseshow. He had to meet with Vince and Stephanie and a few of the creative team. Unfortunately, Batista was present. Not only was he there and clearly trying to make Hunter jealous but he was there because the two of them were about to enter into a feud. If only he could actually beat the shit out of him in the ring… He wasn't jealous but there was something disgusting about how Batista was back in the business because he had hooked up with Stephanie and managed to keep her around. His movie career must have tanked and he's taking it out on me, Hunter thought and scowled.

Hunter made a few cursory comments to Orton and his flavor of the night before the two slid into the booth across from him. He looked away as the two started kissing and scanned the room. Why did he bother? How soon could he make his excuses and leave? He had decided on one more drink when his eyes met another pair staring back at him from across the room. The woman held his gaze for a couple of seconds, like a deer in headlights, and then looked down at her drink. Hunter had noticed her at first because of her white shirt that glowed under the black lights and then their eyes had met.

* * *

Maura lost the ability to breathe when Triple H had met her gaze. She didn't dare look up from the table now. When her sister suddenly appeared and called her name, the brunette nearly jumped out of her skin.

Sliding another Paralyzer across the table, Martine asked, "How many of the wrestlers have you talked to?"

"You mean Orton and Triple H?"

"Well, them too." When Maura stared at her in confusion, Martine reached across the table to turn her sister's head around the room where different pockets of wrestlers and divas had gathered. "You _have _to talk to some of them. This will be your _only_ opportunity to ever meet any of them…_ever_. I'll talk to them first and you can join in. Besides, what guy wouldn't be excited that two gorgeous sisters were coming on to him?"

"I have to…" Maura began, staring around the room. Her eyes were having trouble focusing. "I need… I have to go the restroom," she said hastily and pushed herself up from her seat. She wobbled for a moment, peering around for the restroom. Martine pointed out the way with a smirk. She had to walk past Triple H. Maura swallowed hard and then carefully made her way across the room.

* * *

Hunter was staring aimlessly when he noticed the brunette who had been staring at him approaching. He didn't want to deal with another fan, so he prepared to wave her off…but she kept walking past. He glanced back at her and then turned around to see Orton smirking at him. "You should buy her a drink," the girl at his side encouraged, displaying the same smirk.

"Do you know her?" he asked with a suspicious glance.

"Yes. She's—"

"Not my type," he muttered, cutting her off. She wasn't _not _his type though. She was just out of place for the venue. While most women there were in short, tight dresses and sky-high strappy heels despite the cold night, she was wearing high-heeled boots, tight jeans and a white long-sleeved peasant blouse, open to show a blue camisole and belted, emphasizing her hips. Her long, curly brown hair was pulled back into a messy French-braid with tendrils escaping all over. So under-stated and yet he was drawn to her difference. He would have probably not noticed her if she had been dressed like all the other women present.

"I'm getting another beer. Anybody want anything else?" Hunter asked, rising from his seat. "They're on me."

He was back shortly and slid the beer and margarita across the table to Randy and…Deja—he finally remembered her name. As he was about to sit back down, he felt a body tumble into his. He turned around just in time to catch the woman before she fell.

"I'm so sorry," the woman in white exclaimed. Her eyes widened when she realized whom she had fallen against. "He pushed his chair out and-and…" she faltered in trying to explain how this idiot had accidentally tripped her…forget that she was already unsteady.

"No need to apologize" Hunter replied, still holding her arms where he had caught her.

"Thanks," Maura finally replied as he released his hold on her and then she hurried away, running a hand over her face and hair. She couldn't believe she had literally fallen all over Triple H!

Martine was standing at their table but was turned in another direction…talking to Roman Reigns. Maura started to backtrack as her sister saw her, pulled her in, and introduced the two. He held up two beers and apologized for needing to get back to his table. Maura could only nod in response. Seeing the red in her sister's cheeks, Martine laughed. "You're blushing! You should so totally ask him to dance."

The brunette shook her head. "I tripped all over Triple H," she squeaked.

"You _did _talk to him, didn't you?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?"

"Look, it's a lot to take in. I'm going to drink whatever that concoction is that you brought me and think on things," Maura answered, edging around her sister and unsteadily sliding onto the bench seat.

Martine sucked in her breath and cut off her comment. Another Paralyzer and she would give in, the blonde thought with a grin.

The second drink went down easier than the first but it didn't stop her annoyance with Tandalea. Normally, the blonde wasn't this irritating, especially as she was the most intelligent and sophisticated of the three. The brunette listened to the fashion editor as long as she could and excused herself. Tandalea had come to pick up her purse—she was moving tables as she thought she might have hooked Dolph Ziggler for the night.

"Dolph Ziggler?" Maura mumbled to herself in shock and wrinkled her nose as she pushed away from the table before Tandalea was done gushing. She sighted an opening at the bar that was much too close to Triple H and carefully focused on putting one foot in front of another—the drinks her sister brought her were certainly not virgin. Maura had glanced in the wrestler's direction several times before Tandalea had dropped in but he seemed to be engrossed in conversation with Deja and Orton and a couple of other people she couldn't quite see from her table.

If she had any hope of talking to any single wrestler present, she was going to need more alcohol. Why had she argued with her sister about the outfit Martine had wanted her to wear? She might have been noticed, just enough to not be totally ignored. She shouldn't have braided her hair this morning—Martine couldn't do a thing with it.

"Wanna dance, sexy?" someone shouted in her ear. It wasn't necessary to shout but the owner of the voice was clearly too intoxicated to realize how loud he was being. She didn't know him, whoever he was. Would she have noticed him at any other time? Probably not.

"No, thanks," she answered and turned so that she squarely faced the bar, grabbing the edge when she felt unsteady.

"Oh, c'mon," he pleaded, tucking a tendril of her hair behind the ear he had shouted in.

"Please—" she started to ask him to go away but he cut her off, assuming she had agreed. He tugged on her arm, pulling her a couple of feet away from the bar. The brunette pulled away but lost her balance. She managed to grab the edge of the bar and hoped no one noticed. If only…

As the inebriated, stubborn idiot turned back towards her, Maura's mouth dropped open in shock as Triple H slapped a large hand on the idiot's chest and pulled him forward with a fistful of shirt. "Leave her alone," he ground out and pushed the man away. The brunette turned away, trying to look inconspicuous but to no avail as her stomach dropped to her feet when she felt the light touch of a hand. "You alright?" Hunter asked.

She tried to remember how to talk. Hunter Hearst Helmsley had not quite had this kind of impact on her as a fan, so why did he now? Wait, what _had _she thought about him before? Mmmm, thighs, his thighs in those jeans, she thought and shook her head to clear it. "Yes, thank you. We seem to keep running into each other," she responded with a nervous laugh. He smiled at her and she felt her knees grow weak, unable to pull her eyes away. She wanted to touch his biceps, emphasized by the black t-shirt stretching over the muscles. When the bartender returned with her margarita—heavy on the tequila—the tension broke and Maura mumbled her thanks again and slipped away through the throng of people.

Hunter watched her leave until she was out of sight and then ordered another beer. Sliding into the booth opposite Randy and Deja, he glanced across the room, looking for the woman in white. She was back at the same table, talking with a blonde who could be a model. The two seemed so incongruous. When he turned back towards the table, Deja leaned towards him, her cleavage heavily on display. "You really should talk to her," the redhead stated with a glance over her shoulder.

"What the hell," he muttered and rose from the table. He was fairly positive she knew who he was, but she wasn't a fangirl or ringrat, so why not? He didn't hear Deja giggle or her try to cover up the giggle when Randy gave her a questioning look.

Maura didn't see him coming as she was arguing with her sister about whether the brunette was going to actually talk to anyone there. The younger sister tried to explain her second run-in with Triple H. Martine glanced up to see the man in question steps away and simply stood and walked away. Maura's brow furrowed in question and then she returned to staring at her drink. Before she could take another sip, she felt a presence beside her and looked up to meet the eyes of Hunter Hearst Helmsley once again.

"Mind if I join you?" he asked with a nod of his head towards her.

Without a word, she slid over. She misjudged the distance as Hunter's thigh burned her own from hip to knee. Blood pounded through her ears, so she drank heavily from her glass. It has to be the alcohol, raced through her mind.

The two sat in silence for a moment and then Hunter spoke, "Don't particularly like these kind of places either." She glanced up at him and smiled. Something about her smile made him want to draw closer.

"That obvious, huh?"

"Just a little," he said, returning her smile. She nearly melted. They sat in silence for a few minutes longer both staring out at the crowd with the occasional tipping of a glass and a beer bottle. Finally, he spoke again, "You eaten supper?"

"Yeah. You?" she responded, turning back towards him.

He nodded. "You wanna get out of here? Get some dessert or something?"

Maura opened her mouth to reply in the negative but shut it quickly. What difference did it make? She could sit here and be miserable or she could see what the night held. Something like this would never happen again, so why the hell not? "Sure."

Hunter smiled again and drained the remainder of his beer. She was almost finished with the margarita but pushed it away. Her head and limbs were already too light. He stood up and held out his hand to help her out. Tingles shot out through her body and, for the hundredth time, her lungs needed to be reminded to function again. "We need to stop at the coatcheck," she stated as they turned toward the door.

"No problem. Your purse?" he asked, nodding towards the booth. She shook her head and patted her back pocket.

At coatcheck, she sent a text to her sister: "Going out FOR DESSERT with someone. Don't worry. Will meet you at apt. later tonight."

Inside the club, Martine received the message and laughed out loud. Her plan had gone better than she could ever imagine. Her sister had left the club with Triple H! She couldn't believe her nun-wannabe sister had left with a wrestler. Martine had planned to get a couple of drinks in her—she was a light weight and would certainly balk sober—and then get her out on the floor. Deja had known this place was a favorite of WWE wrestlers. With the houseshow that night, they were sure to be here. If Martine couldn't appeal to Maura's good side to forego this stupid life decision, then she could appeal to her bad side and her wrestling addiction. Alcohol, music, dancing, and some fine looking men—not any men but wrestlers. This was what she was giving up—surely, she could talk her sister out of her commitment after this night while in her euphoric haze of alcohol and dancing with hot wrestlers. Martine laughed again. She hoped to not see her sister until the next morning.

* * *

Outside on the sidewalk, the wrestler offered, "Hunter, by the way."

There was no need for him to know her name. She wouldn't see him again and she certainly didn't want it thrown around if he talked to his friends. "Clare," she answered.

"So, Clare, you from Chicago? Know any good places for dessert?"

"Yeah, but it's quite a walk," she answered, pushing her hair out of face from the cold wind and smoothing down her long pea coat.

"Only if you're up for it."

She nodded to the left and they set off. They said little as they walked and their elbows bumped each other. Coming up on a crowd, she turned and explained, "It's a protest over the US's response to what's going on in Syria." She tried to push through the crowd but she was afraid of losing him among the on-lookers. "Give me your hand."

Once on the other side, neither made the move to drop the other's hand. Both were clearly aware of how warm their palms were despite the chill of the night, the touch of his leather jacket against her wrist and the wool fabric rough against his. To make conversation, Hunter asked, "So why were you torturing yourself tonight at that club?"

Maura searched her mind for one more lie—then Martine's Peace Corps flyers flashed through. "I leave in the morning for a new job and I got dragged out to celebrate the last night and all," she answered with the roll of her eyes.

"What do you do?"

"Peace Corps, humanitarian work—feeding and housing the homeless, delivering to shut-ins, low-income aid programs." She paused and then added, "You'll forgive me if I don't ask what you do?"

"Wrestling fan, huh?" he asked, leading her forward.

"Don't you have to be to know that kind of thing?"

She loved the deep rumble of his laugh before he responded, "You would be surprised."

"Okay, then, yes. Been a fan since I could walk."'

"You're not old enough to have watched in the 80s—"

"You don't have to suck up. You've got me out for dessert and coffee. Plus, you can still be a fan of that era. Besides, I prefer the 80s and early 90s to the PG era."

"Favorite wrestlers in the 80s?"

"Rowdy Roddy Piper. You?"

"The kid in me always goes back to Andre the Giant. Favorite of the 90s?'

"Shawn Michaels."

"Undertaker. After 2000?"

"If you're trying to fish for compliments, you're out of luck."

"So, it's not me?" Hunter asked with raised eyebrows and a slight smirk.

"Again, you've already got me out," she replied with the same face.

They continued down the sidewalk, trading responses from favorite stable to favorite moment in wrestling history. The two were still laughing about the Piper's Pit with Snuka and the coconut when they arrived at the small Irish pub. The only two seats together were at a corner table and they settled in beside each other and perused a drink and dessert menu.

Maura was still all too aware that she had had too much to drink—she was still light-headed and giddy. The fact that she was sitting here with Triple H was proof. Did this count as a sin that she would have to admit to the priest tomorrow? Tomorrow…

Hunter set his menu down to see her staring off and took the opportunity to study her. She was probably too young for him but she didn't act like the usual barely-out-of-their-teens girls who stalked him on the road. She was different and he couldn't figure out what it was that drew him to her. She had a killer smile and he found himself lost in her dark blue eyes. He couldn't resist smoothing a tress of her hair down from where a gust of wind had blown it across her forehead. She jumped at his touch. "Either you were doing mathematical equations in your head or…" he trailed off.

"I drifted off into a couple of things I need to do before I leave," she apologized turning towards him. Their thighs were touching again sending her heart racing and Maura was sure that the thoughts that just ran through her mind _would_ require confession.

"I'm not keeping you out too late?" he said a little more suggestively than he meant.

"I've got the rest of my life to sleep," she replied as the server stopped by.

After ordering, the two made small talk about the abnormally cold weather in Chicago and the Northeast in generally and the possibility of a blizzard next weekend.

"Favorite city to visit?" Maura asked when the server brought their drinks. "You don't have to say Chicago."

"New York."

"San Francisco."

"Favorite thing to do in Chicago?" he asked.

"Walking Grant Park or simply walking the city at Christmas. Come here often enough to have a favorite thing to do?"

"Eat," he laughed when the two plates of pie were set before them. He gestured at the cheesecake drizzled with chocolate and raspberry sauces. "Want a bite of mine?"

They traded bites of the cheesecake and turtle caramel pie and talked long after the dessert was gone and both had two mugs each of hot chocolate with Irish cream. The server had eventually stopped coming over. The conversation was easy and randomly shot around like a pinball machine—favorite color, favorite movie, favorite book…with much commentary in between. As they chatted, the two moved closer together until Hunter's arm was hanging over the back of the bench and absently playing with her hair. Maura had chills running down her neck and back for the last half hour he had been doing that.

Her hand that she had casually laid on his thigh an hour ago was still burning into his skin and he was fully aware every time her shoulder leaned up against him. For all the little suggestive actions, she had made no overtures toward him, nothing that said, "Please take me back to your hotel room." Yet, he didn't want to leave and she clearly didn't want to either.

The spell was broken when Maura glanced down at her watch. She needed to go. She was going to have to attend the second service tomorrow, which was uncharacteristic of her, in order to get some decent sleep. Whatever it was that the two of them had was going to end eventually.

"I would hate for you to make a terrible first impression tomorrow. You need to go?" Hunter asked, glancing at his own watch.

"I suppose," she said with a sigh. He helped her into her coat and they were both aware of when they touched, more now than before.

Hunter took her hand without a question as they stepped out onto the sidewalk and her heart began to race. He glanced around at the nearly deserted streets and then offered, "My hotel is not far from here. We can get you a cab easy from there."

Maura nodded and followed him as he led them towards his hotel. Neither spoke as they walked, pressed together against the cold wind. Despite the bitter weather that had risen up in the past couple of hours, the two wanted this time to drag out, to not drop hands even though the wind was biting into them.

"This is it," Hunter announced and Maura sagged in disappointment. He tugged her into the dimly lit lobby. "Get warm for a moment," he said and disappeared back outside to speak with the porter.

When he came back in, Maura smiled but glanced down shyly. "Thanks for dessert and for getting me out of that club."

Hunter laughed and tipped her head up before raising her hand to his lips. "You got me out of there too. I had a good time tonight."

"Me too," she breathed out as they both leaned in towards each other. It was a quick kiss, their lips barely brushing. Pinpricks of desire shot throughout her body and she had to work hard to pull herself away.

The kiss was almost nothing but Hunter's stomach had flipped in a way that he almost didn't recognize. "You wanna come up for a nightcap?" he asked. "I won't keep you long and it's not as if the porter can't find you another cab." Her brain screamed 'no' but her body took over when her head nodded 'yes.'

A quick word to the porter and the two were heading for the elevator hand-in-hand. Maura tried to think of something to say as they stood in the elevator but her brain function had shut down and her pulse was deafening. All she could think was that she was going to a wrestler's hotel room and not any wrestler but Triple H. But they were going up for a drink and that was all, she reminded herself over and over, but the sexual tension between the two in the elevator said otherwise.

Hunter reluctantly let go of her hand to unlock the door and held it open for her to enter. "Let me take your coat," he offered and she shrugged out of it, glancing around the room. It wasn't as posh as she expected, her eyes moving quickly over the desk with the lamp left on, the leather couch, and large city-view windows behind them. The bed was the size of a play-ground, she thought and turned back towards Hunter, who was laying aside their coats and emptying his pockets.

He faced her and ran a hand through his loose hair. He started to speak but, like a magnet, the two of them were drawn together, his lips descending upon her upturned ones. He pulled her tight against him, her curves fitting the hard plane of his body, and wrapped an arm around her shoulders and his other hand supporting her neck. Her hands snaked up his chest and to his neck, pulling him down harder. Their kisses were intense, speaking a volume of what their bodies had been hinting.

There was no question of what they desired. Neither would remember who made the first move but both were quickly removing each other's clothes as they edged toward the bed, fingers leaving searing trails over naked flesh. To remove the skin-tight jeans, Hunter gently pushed her to the bed. He stared at her, down to nothing but her panties, and swallowed hard as blush crept into her cheeks and across her chest. She was a different kind of beautiful, soft curves, a real woman, one who still knew how to blush. In that brief moment, he was grateful Orton had teased him about getting lucky and flicked condoms at him. He held up a finger to her and rifled through his bag.

Her eyes watched his every move, feasting on how the smallest movement emphasized his tight muscles and anticipating his return. If she had all the time in the world, she would taste every inch of his thighs, nibble her way up the inside… Her clouded eyes raised to his and he slid down across the bed to lie beside her. He held up the condoms and then flicked them aside as he drew her to him to kiss her before trailing his hot mouth down her neck and to the hollow of her throat, even the soft scratch of his beard arousing her. Goose bumps covered her whole body with every kiss and every time his calloused thumb swept over her nipple. She massaged his bicep with her one free hand but she grabbed a fistful of the blanket when his mouth found her breast. Her low moans drove him over the edge and foreplay became an afterthought. The entire night had been foreplay.

As he tore the wrapper with his teeth, Maura breathed in unsteadily, her breath ruffling his hair by his ear and her hands trailing down his chest to his waist. His fingers fumbled with the wrapper and it fell to her chest. He dropped his head to her shoulder, groaning into the crook of her neck when her hands stroked his hardness. It took all of his strength to raise back up. He retrieved the wrapper and trailed it down her stomach to the apex of her thighs.

"Clare," he spoke softly, his brow furrowed. Her eyes met his, both of them seeing through a haze of want. She nodded and, in moments, he rose above her, his knee nudging her thighs apart. He drove deep within her and she cried out his name. "You okay?"

"Yes, oh, yes," she whispered, breathless and quivering.

He tried to move slow at first but couldn't contain himself. She matched him thrust-for-thrust, her legs locked around him and her hips slamming into his. The coil within them wound tighter and tighter and she clenched her muscles around him. He pumped faster as she gripped his arms. She cried out his name, grabbing fistfuls of blanket. Seconds later, he collapsed against her, breathing hard. He was barely able to roll to his back and she regretted the loss of his body pressing against hers. She turned on her side and he cradled her neck with his arm, fingers playing across her back. She drew lazy circles across his chest. Both relaxed against the bed and drifted into a heavy sleep.

* * *

Maura slept terrible when she was cold and she tugged at the blanket to cover herself back up when she realized why she was cold. She blinked in the dim light and reached out a hand to push herself up but her fingers met with warm flesh. Her hand flew to her mouth as she realized her actions. She quickly rolled off the bed and dashed for the bathroom. She couldn't even face the mirror and turned her back to it. Confessing to impure thoughts and drinking too much was one thing but having to confess to sex with a man she barely knew was another. Her hair was a disaster and she finger-brushed it before rebraiding it. Finding a wash cloth, she tried to wipe away more alcohol than she had consumed in four years of college. Her body still tingled and her heartbeat quickened as she relived what they had done. She had to leave the bathroom to get dressed to leave. She quietly crept out but he was awake and leaning up against the headboard, the blanket and sheet puddled around his waist. She ducked back into the bathroom when he saw her.

"You're not going to be shy _now_, are you?" Hunter asked with soft laugh. "Come on out."

Maura tried to still her breathing. She wasn't a model; she barely ate right and kept her weight down. She was too embarrassed now and he would only laugh at her when he realized she was nothing like the kind of woman he was used to. She quickly made for the bed and slid under the covers.

"What are you afraid of?" he asked, running the back of his fingers across her cheek and down her neck.

"That you won't like what you see," she replied, her eyes downcast.

"I don't know you well but I know enough to know you worry too much what others think. I find you beautiful," he responded, curling his arm around her and pulling her close.

She smiled up at him and then laid her head against his chest. "What time is it?"

"Late enough," he responded and held his watch out where she could see it. They hadn't been asleep long. There was still enough time for her to get home and maybe get a little more sleep. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to move. Staring absently in the direction of the large-screen television, she thought of missing Sunday football tomorrow and, to break the silence, she asked, "Football or baseball?"

"Football."

"Favorite team?'

"New England Patriots," he answered.

She made a disgusted noise in the back of her throat. "Chicago Bears."

"Wow, what a surprise," he sarcastically replied and tugged on her braid. "Let me guess, Chicago Cubs?"

"Nope, White Sox. You? And if you say New York Yankees, I'm kicking you out _my _bed."

When he didn't respond, she playfully gasped and narrowed her eyes at him. "You said not to tell you!" he replied with a laugh. He laughed harder as she feebly pushed him, as if she could dislodge him on the bed. "You'll have to try harder."

Losing her inhibition, she struggled up on her knees and straddled him. She pulled hard on his shoulders and he didn't budge an ounce. "Hmmm," she pondered, wiggling in his lap, "If I'm stuck with you, I should make the best of it." Yes, she had had too much to drink.

She dipped her head to kiss his lips and then trail smaller kisses to his ear. He pulled the band from her hair and ran his fingers through it as she nipped at his ear, sending chills shooting throughout his body. She ran her tongue down his neck, his chest, and then to his waist, easing her body downward. He almost imperceptibly twitched as her hair tickled sensitive parts of his flesh.

She kissed her way down one of his thighs and could feel him tremble as she nipped at the inside. Best thighs in the business, she thought with a chuckle, and planted kisses on the inside of one thigh and then the other as she worked her way up. She was pleased at his gasp when her mouth closed over his manhood. Agonizingly slow, she moved up and down. He moaned softly, his thighs growing tighter against her hands.

"Clare," he ground out, on the edge of release. She didn't hear the name, only that he had spoken to her. She raised up to meet his dark eyes. Tucking one hand under her jaw, he pulled her back up to him but she held him off long enough to sight a condom. She struggled to get it on and he helped her before pulling her to lay on his chest. "Favorite sex position?" he asked.

"This one," she whispered, straddling him and then levering herself down and around him. He closed his eyes in ecstasy but as she rose and fell against him, he stroked her breasts. The pleasure radiating from her core shot throughout the rest of her body. As she sped up, his hands dropped to her hips, forcing himself deeper within her. She gripped the headboard to steady herself or her body, weak from sheer bliss, would give out and topple over.

The sweet tension within him released and she slowed and stopped as his body shuddered and grew limp. She pushed tendrils of his hair away from his face but he caught her hand to kiss the palm. "Sorry," he muttered against it.

"It's o—" she couldn't finish as the other hand on her hip slipped between her thighs. With a shiver, she emitted a tiny squeak when his thumb find the sensitive nub at her center. She gripped his shoulders, trying to hold in the moans as she rocked gently against his hand.

"Let it go," he whispered in her ear, making the hair on her body stand up.

She panted, silently begging for her release. Finally, her body convulsed and waves of pleasure rippled throughout her. She collapsed on his chest, the only sound their heavy breaths struggling to resume normalcy.

Hunter wriggled down until his head was on the pillow, holding her against his chest. She fell asleep, her legs still straddling his waist.

* * *

When Maura woke next, she was alone in the bed, lying stomach down. She reached out for the clock on the nightstand and turned it towards her. She would need to get dressed now to make it back on the train to her sister's apartment in time to shower and pack the last couple of things to make it in time for confession before the second mass.

It was hours since her last drink but she was sure she was still tipsy. Her brain tried to clear the fog but every move she made reminded her of the intense pleasure her body had experienced. Reluctantly, she rose from the bed and began searching for her clothes.

When Hunter appeared from the bathroom, she was wearing only the peasant blouse, which showed just the hint of her round bottom. Looking in the mirror above the dresser, she made a disgusted noise and threw her hands up. "What?" he casually asked, stopping behind her and running his hand under the blouse. He smiled into the crook of her neck as she grew slack against him.

For a moment, she couldn't speak. "I need to leave but if I walk out the door with my hair looking like this, _everyone _will know what I've done all night," she answered running a hand through hair that snagged in the curls. He really couldn't argue—her hair looked like Helena Bonham Carter's on a bad day. "I would have to wash it to even get it back into some semblance of order."

To save her from the walk of shame, he nodded towards the bathroom. "Shower here. I was thinking about doing that myself," he said suggestively and dropped his hands down to the curls between her thighs. When her head dropped back against his chest and she moaned, he tugged her to the bathroom.

The shower stall was large enough for the both of them to move around a little but he walked her in and twisted on the faucet knobs. He covered her mouth with his when she gasped at the hot water hitting them. Her breasts were pressed up against his chest and his growing need pressing into her stomach. She involuntarily groaned in disappointment as he separated the two of them and held up the hotel shampoo. "Fine," she muttered with a smirk and downcast eyes.

He turned her to massage the shampoo into her hair that fell halfway down her back soaked in water. She reached behind her and slowly worked her hands over his thighs, abs, and then his manhood. She smiled to herself as he paused but then continued to rinse her hair. He worked the shampoo through his own hair as fast as he could. When she knew he was done, she reached for the soap and lathered up her hands, turning to him with a look that said 'don't you dare move.' "There will be payback," he muttered.

Maura worked her hands over his body, massaging in places and lightly trailing her fingertips over others. This was the last time she would be able to touch him like this and she took as much time as possible torturing him with her hands and mouth, drawing in as much of the sensual as she could.

They traded places and she forgot the rest of the world existed outside of this warm cocoon of desire. He found out he could make her squeak by humming against the juncture of neck and shoulder and at her thigh and hip. He wasn't trying to bring her to orgasm, which made his touch prolonged torture. Why was it that just the simplest touch from him against her skin sent shivers throughout her body when it had never been that way with any guy before?

They both exclaimed when the gushing water turned from hot to cold. He fumbled for the faucet knobs around her and finally got them turned off. He quickly shook out a towel and wrapped her in as she started shivering. She toweled her hair dry, her eyes still feasting on his body. "May I?" she asked, holding up his brush. He drew lazy circles over her body as she wrestled the tangles of her curls. Was she doomed to walk out that door and the last feeling would be goose bumps from his fingertips?

When she set down his brush, he smiled an evil grin and stated, "Payback."

"What?" she responded but the air rushed out of her as he flipped her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. He dropped her on the bed and pinned her with a stare—the large hand splayed on her chest helped somewhat. He lazily kissed one breast and then the other and then blazed a hot trail down the center of her stomach to the apex of her thighs. She tensed in anticipation and cried, "Oh, God," as his tongue parted her swollen lips and teased the sensitive nub. She would never remember taking the Lord's name in vain as the only thing she could concentrate on was his ministrations. Not a single one of her boyfriends had _ever_ done that! Her breath grew ragged, her back arched off the bed, and her hands clenched fistfuls of the sheet as his tongue explored her depths.

Suddenly he stopped and her weak body flattened against the bed in disappointment. "One more condom left," he said, trailing kisses up her stomach. "Shall we?"

"Yes, God, yes," she raggedly answered. She could have him one more time if she skipped confession—how the hell could she go to confession straight from his bed anyhow—and asked her sister to drop off her duffel bag, the only property she was bringing with her. She spied the unopened wrapper on the nightstand closest to her and held her up hand to indicate she would handle it. She felt so inadequate but she couldn't help kneeling before him, running her tongue up and down his shaft and then closing her mouth over him for a few more strokes but slipping the condom on, this time without help. One last time, she nipped her way down his thighs and then stood before him.

Hunter pulled her down to him, staring into her clouded eyes, and then rolled her underneath him. His mouth descended on hers and their tongues teased each other. He pulled back to look at her one more time, pushing aside one of her wayward curls. Then he nudged her thighs apart and slowly slid inside her. She closed her eyes and threw her head back. He didn't move again until she looked back up at him. He set a slow, tortuous pace, knowing this night was over but wanting it to last longer. Her fingers dug into his back, trying to fruitlessly hang onto reality. Her hips rose to meet his for each agonizingly sweet thrust and she clenched her muscles around his.

"Please," she begged as they gazed into each other's eyes, "please." He gave in to her pleading and pumped harder and faster. When it was not possible to reach a higher level of pleasure, they climaxed together. He fell beside her, one hand splayed across her thigh.

When their breathing began to return to normal, she raised up on one elbow to smooth his hair away from his face. "I'm sorry to say this, but I do have to go."

He nodded and struggled to sit up, pulling her up with him. She dressed slowly, every part of her body still tingling. The jeans were tight enough that no wrinkles were noticeable, the denim rubbing sensually against the inside of her thighs that were chafed from his beard. She shook out her blouse that was hanging from the doorknob in the bathroom. Most of the wrinkles had steamed out during their shower. She wasn't much presentable to turn herself over to the Abbess. Maybe she could change before mass if her sister met her in time. She sent Martine a text to ask for her help. She had missed a couple of texts asking her when she was going to get home.

Hunter had dressed in black slacks and a sapphire blue button-up that made her mouth water. He held her coat for her and she shrugged into it. "I'll come down with you," he said, picking up the keycard, "and have the porter get you a cab."

In the elevator, Hunter waged a war within himself. He wanted to see her again. He didn't want this night to be their last. But she was with the Peace Corps. From what he knew of the organization, she would be gone for two years minimum. She hadn't said where. Her appointment could be anywhere in the US but also anywhere in the world. For God's sake, he didn't even know her last name. He wouldn't ask. She probably expected nothing more from him the moment she walked out the door and she was starting her life elsewhere. Still, he kept trading glances with her.

Maura smiled every time she caught him looking her way. She couldn't stop watching him, trying to convince herself that this past night was all real. She was shocked at herself but she didn't regret it. Regret would come later. She would never see him again and she was resigned to that fact. But in these last moments, in this world that stood outside of her moral faith, her eyes still wanted to drink him in.

As Hunter talked to the porter, thankfully a different one, Maura stood helpless to her carnality. Her burning skin was shocked at the cold wind. Two cabs were parked on the block, waiting a short distance down from the hotel. She glanced up at the vehicle that would take her away from him.

Hunter had said nothing since the hotel room because he didn't know what to say. The few one-night stands he'd had never ended with him walking the girl out to a cab. The farthest he had seen a girl was to his hotel room door. He didn't remember a time that he had felt like this just after meeting a woman. "Clare," he began as she glanced away.

She didn't respond to her name. When she turned back towards him as the cab stopped, she realized he had spoken. "I'm sorry. What did you say?"

"Nothing," he replied, losing his resolve. He reached for the cab to open the door and brushed up against her. Her sensitive body immediately reacted and she sharply drew in her breath. Hunter placed his hands on her cheeks, his fingers running up into her hair. He paused, searching her eyes, for what he didn't know. He dropped his eyes as she clasped her hands around his wrist. "Goodbye," he whispered, looking back at her and gently brushing his lips against hers.

That simple gesture sent a shockwave throughout her body and left her reeling. "Goodbye," Maura whispered in response, dropping a hand to his chest and then climbing into the car. She stared straightforward as he shut the door and the car started forward. At the end of the block, she glanced back but he was talking with the porter.

Hunter finished requesting his own car and then his eyes followed the cab until it disappeared out of sight.

* * *

Maura had rushed into the church before the tolling of the hour and, after genuflecting, she had taken a spot on the last pew so as not to draw any more attention to herself. She had stared, without seeing, at the portrait of the Madonna and Child in the apse throughout mass, not hearing a word of the service. She grew acutely aware of the time when the Eucharist was administered. She stayed rooted to the spot, unworthy of the sacrament.

Upon the priest pronouncing the benediction, Martine appeared at Maura's side. She quietly placed the small duffel bag on the bench beside her sister. "We _have_ to talk," the blonde firmly stated.

"You said 'not a word,'" Maura replied, without looking up.

"That was before you had a one night stand with Triple H," she whispered.

"Shut up," the brunette hissed, her gaze flicking up to where her older sister stood. "Not a word. That's what you said."

With a sigh, Martine replied, "I'll be waiting in the back if you want to go back _home_." She held out Maura's wooden rosary and then stalked away once her little sister took it.

Maura knew not how long she sat there. The Abbess, in prayer, had patiently waited on the front pew and her sister stood in the narthex. A decision, she had to make a decision. What had changed from 9pm last night to noon today? Why should a night of incredible sex change anything? Yet, it was more than sex. But that hardly mattered. It's not as if their relationship could be. How could she stand before the Abbess after what she had done? But how could she not fling herself before the altar and not beg for mercy?

Her faith had not changed. But she had been noticed. He had noticed _her_, he had wanted to spend time with _her_, he had called _her _beautiful, he had treated her as if _she _was the only person in the world. She had worshipped at the temple of his body and he had done the same in return, leaving her in sensory overload.

After having tasted Hunter Hearst Helmsley, how could she walk away from a normal life? He was the prime example of what she was missing. Yet, after having tasted Hunter Hearst Helmsley, how could she find better or replicate the experience? Why try when it would never happen? Why not walk away when her "normal" life was no longer the same?

Maura Kelley finally rose from her pew. She glanced back at her sister and then forward at the Abbess. With a sigh, she stepped out into the aisle.


	2. What Could I Offer You

Author's Note: I know this was published as a one-shot but I've been haunted about Maura's decision and how Triple H responded in the aftermath. This chapter is indeed the last installment of "Exchanging Glances." Because this chapter is about the aftermath, there is much less focus on, um, the _Fifty Shades _side.

**Chapter Two: What Could I Offer You**

In a month's time, RAW would take place in Chicago, ten months since his one night stand with Clare. Hunter had had no business to bring him back to Chicago since that night but he had thought about her more and more as the RAW date loomed closer.

In the first several weeks after leaving Chicago, the wrestler had felt energized and was enjoying work again. His closest friends had noticed and casually commented. He would simply smile and shrug his shoulders. Whatever it was, whatever Clare had done, he was more willing to join the rest of the world again. He thought of her nearly every day in those first weeks. He occasionally accompanied his friends out and was less irritated and abrasive with anyone he encountered on those nights out. He didn't bring a woman back to his room again, not for their lack of trying, but mostly because their interaction felt so shallow compared to his night with Clare.

As the weeks wore on, Hunter thought a little less of her, like in the aftermath of a break-up. A comment here and there would bring Clare to his mind. Any time there was a Bears or White Sox game being shown nationally or when he would see the score flash across the bottom of ESPN, he would think of her and chuckle to himself. Cheesecake and turtle caramel pie would quickly bring her visage to his mind.

Even though Hunter had to endure Stephanie and Batista, he was less angry at them. The less he resisted whatever Creative dreamed up for them (i.e., what Stephanie wanted), the less the two seemed to flaunt their relationship in front of him. If she was happy, he didn't care. Technically, if she wasn't happy, he didn't care either. The point was that if she could find happiness, then it was only right that he could too and she could leave him alone to do so.

The months stretched out with the occasional thought of Clare but within the past few weeks, he had started thinking about her more and more. He chalked it up to the impending visit to Chicago. With a month left, he had thought about her as much as in the first couple days after leaving her. Daily he regretted not asking about her corps assignment or for her cell number. For all he knew, she was right under his nose—that thought irritated him the most. He had decided to find her if possible; he just wasn't sure how to yet. If he was going to, he had to start in Chicago.

The epiphany hit Triple H the day after Orton had mentioned that he and Deja had met in Chicago and she was pushing him to change his schedule and fly in early so that they could celebrate their anniversary in the city, even though it was actually two months later. Deja knew Clare! He remembered her pushing him to buy Clare a drink and talk to her and he had asked if Deja knew her. She had said 'yes' but he had cut her off before she had said another word.

Hunter immediately called Randy. "I need a favor. Ask Deja if she would get Clare's number for me."

"Who's Clare?"

"A friend of Deja's. Met her when we were last in Chicago."

Randy began laughing. "Booty call!"

"Just ask her," he retorted and ended the call.

When Orton had not called him back by the next day, he called him again. "Did you ask Deja?"

"About what?" Randy asked, puzzled.

"Clare," Hunter answered through his teeth.

"Oh, yeah," he replied absently, "but she said she doesn't know anybody by the name of Clare."

"I know for a fact she does," Hunter asserted, clinching his fist.

"Then ask her yourself this weekend; she's coming out to St. Louis for the pay-per-view show. Why—"

"Never mind," Hunter cut him off.

By Saturday, he was antsy, frustrated with waiting to arrive in Missouri. That evening, he had dinner with several other wrestlers and divas at Orton's house. As soon as he could get Deja alone, he started grilling her. "Are you not friends with Clare anymore or something?"

"Clare who? I don't know a Clare."

"The brunette at the club the night you and Orton met. You said you knew her," the wrestler insisted, trying not to sound desperate.

Deja could only shake her head. "I'm being honest. I don't know who you're talking about."

Hunter couldn't believe this was happening. Deja was his only connection to finding Clare and she was not acknowledging her existence. For a moment, the fear struck him that maybe Deja didn't know her. He ran a hand over his face. "The girl that tripped into me, wore white, brunette, braid, you said _twice _that I should buy her a drink."

"Wait, wait, wait," she responded, holding her hands up. Randy had noticed his girlfriend's agitation with Hunter and he came over to put an arm around her shoulders and ask what was going on. Before he could ask, she shrugged him off and pulled her phone out of her back pocket. "Just a minute," she said, flicking through screen after screen. "Are you asking about _her_?"

Deja held up the phone and Hunter's insides began turning to mush. It was a group picture of Deja, Clare, and three other girls. Hunter plucked the phone from her and began scrolling through pictures. There were several more in which Clare appeared, clearly taken before they had arrived at the nightclub. She apparently had not cared about being out with them then either. "Yes," he breathed out, "her."

The blonde began laughing, side-splitting guffaws, as she took her phone back from Hunter, who had not been able to take his eyes off of the pictures. "The two of you—you had—oh, my god, you got the nun—in bed," she managed to get out between the laughs, bending over double and holding her sides.

Now both Orton and Triple H were staring at her like she had grown horns. She wiped away the tears of laughter and composed herself. "First, her name is not Clare; it's Maura. Second, she became a nun."

"When?" Hunter asked, his stomach bottoming out.

"Um, that week, I think."

"Are you sure her name is Maura?" he asked, just to be sure they were talking about the same person.

"I work with her sister, so yeah."

"I gotta go," Helmsley muttered, not even looking up at the couple.

"We've not even eaten," Randy protested.

"I'm not hungry, sorry." He turned and walked out the door, leaving Randy and Deja stunned.

That night, Hunter sat in the hotel's sofa chair, no lights on but what came in through the window. He drank his way through much of the mini-bar. Clare—no, Maura—was lost to him. In a way, Clare was forever lost because she ceased to exist the moment he put her in the cab. Why did she give him a fake name? She said she was going on a Peace Corps assignment. Did she not want him to find her? And she became a nun?! Did he drive her to that? Because he didn't ask her to see her again? What if she already had plans? Why in the hell would a devout Catholic do something like that? Wait…he was her last fling! Did she target him and clumsily seduce him? He certainly fell for her shtick if so.

Hunter woke the next morning to the sound of a text message notice on his phone. He tried to shake the cobwebs from his head as he reached for the phone. The text was from Deja: "Maura's sis is Martine Spencer-Kelley, editor 4 Chicago Style. Martine's # …" What the hell was he supposed to do with her sister's name and number? It didn't change that she was a nun. He managed to ignore the text for a few days but he eventually gave in and googled Martine.

Maura and Martine were clearly related but, at the same time, they were very different. Their eyes were identical though. He found himself reading Martine's article on the magazine's website but quickly clicked away as she droned on about a wedding dress expo. Taking a deep breath, he googled "Maura Spencer-Kelley," but the search engine returned nothing relevant. He sighed in disappointment. Just for the hell of it, he googled Maura's name with just one of the last names and then he hit paydirt.

She was named as the new director of the family abuse center for which St. Clare's Monastery was in the midst of the capital building campaign. St. Clare's was in Chicago. She had given him the saint's name… He clicked through the website, trawling the pages for another hint of her. After several pages, he found himself staring at a picture of her surrounded by a group of kids, all laughing with huge smiles. He knew that smile, the way her eyes crinkled when she grinned in joy. But then his eyes focused on the whole picture again and he shook his head at the habit she wore, hiding her long, thick curls.

He had to see her. He didn't know why and he didn't know what he would say but he had to see her again. He didn't expect her to renounce her vows but he had to talk to her. The announcement about the center was less than a month old and stated that she would remain as one of the assistant directors of the monastery's soup kitchen and men's homeless shelter until the completion of the new center.

* * *

Hunter had managed to finagle himself out of Sunday's houseshow, the day before RAW in Chicago. After a stop at his hotel, he drove to the soup kitchen in the late afternoon on that Sunday, the earliest he could arrive. He sat in the rental car for a few minutes, pulling himself back together before entering the establishment. Just inside the door, he paused and scanned the room, his eyes moving over the tables and the small groups of the homeless clustered together. He was looking for an administrative office or someone who looked like they were in charge.

Sister Thecla, one of the older nuns on duty that afternoon, spotted him before he saw her. She was a large, round woman that even priests obeyed when she made orders. She didn't trust this massive, well-dressed man who had just come in her door. "Can I help you?" she asked and he jerked his gaze towards the woman dressed in a dark brown habit and white wimple.

"I'm looking for Maura Kelley."

"She's busy. Maybe I can help you?" she warily asked.

"A mutual friend said I should talk to her about seeing the place. I have a donation I would like to pass on to her for the abuse center," he carefully explained, holding out the folded check.

Sister Thecla took it and glanced at the written figures. It was just enough to complete their capital campaign. "I'm Sister Thecla," she said with a pat on his arm. "Let me see if I can find Maura for you."

Both of them turned quickly as they heard a clatter. A soup ladle bounced across the floor. Hunter immediately saw who had dropped it—it was Maura. Dressed in pair of loose jeans and a t-shirt with the center's logo, she stared at him, mouth agape. Standing beside her was a Boy Scout with a similar look of shock on his face.

* * *

Maura was amiably chatting with Jahari, an eleven-year-old Boy Scout who was volunteering to earn a badge. His troop met in one of the classrooms at the monastery. The two were preparing the beef and vegetable soup for that night's supper. Maura mentally waved off whoever had entered the shelter as Sister Thecla was manning the door for the afternoon. Her head snapped up when she heard the deep voice. Like a zombie, she shuffled out of the kitchen.

"Maura? Sister Maura?" Jahari called as she walked away from him and then hurried after her. The brunette didn't bother to correct him. As she shuffled around the corner, Hunter Hearst Helmsley came into view. "Oh… my… God," the Scout whispered. Maura mentally seconded him.

"Maura," Sister Thecla addressed her, picking up the soup ladle and handing it to Jahari. He didn't take the hint and simply stood there staring. The nun pressed the check into the stunned woman's hand, not sure what to make of her confused face. "This gentleman is interested in the family abuse center and has brought a donation. Why don't you show him the center?" The sister was not above catering within reason to high-end donors.

"Hunter Hearst Helmsley," the wrestler said, extending his hand to Maura. Chills shot throughout her body as she grasped his hand.

Maura hurriedly pulled the apron over her head and then remembered Jahari. She introduced the two and all the boy could say was, "Cool."

"You a fan?" Hunter asked him. The boy nodded vigorously and the wrestler laughed.

The brunette used the moment to try to still her mind. He had found her! Holy shit, he had found her! Why? Jesus, Joseph, and Mary, why?

"Mr. Helmsley, right this way," she rebounded. "We'll have to go through the kitchen and into the offices as there is work being done on the corridor to the center."

He followed Maura into the kitchen and listened as she narrated how many people they fed daily, what kinds of people come in for food, dispelling myth and asserting fact. She was spilling out her memorized tour speech that she always gave to volunteers or interested groups. Jahari was right on their heels. Because of the boy, Hunter didn't interrupt her and let the charade continue. She pointed out the community food pantry and wound her way through the offices. Eventually, they entered the unfinished center where only the studs of the walls were erected.

"It doesn't look like much right now," she said, gesturing around the raw room. "Only our offices and supplies will be kept here. With your donation, we can complete a planned off-site, undisclosed location where the women and their children stay at first until we can place them in a safer home of their own. Right now, they are housed with individual families who have an extra room or floor."

Maura paused in the middle of the first room where a large plywood board lay atop two sawhorses. She put the table between them and placed her hands on it to steady herself. Hunter acted as if he was greatly interested as he studied the room. The silence gave her time to realize that she would have to talk to him alone to ask why he was there. "Jahari, someone needs to stir the soup."

"Okay," the boy replied, slowly nodding, his eyes still on the wrestler and the soup ladle in his hand.

"Don't forget to add the green beans," she added, encouraging him to leave. He glanced back and forth at Hunter and Maura.

"I'll stop back by and autograph something for you before I leave," Hunter offered. The boy then nodded more certainly and trotted off.

"Be sure to wash the ladle," Maura called after him.

They were now alone and she could only stare at the plywood board, her grip on it keeping her upright.

Hunter broke the silence. "_Clare, _huh?"

"You weren't supposed to come looking for me," she replied, her gaze still boring into the plywood.

"Peace Corps, too?"

She slowly shook her head, her eyes still down. "Would you have walked out that door with me if I said I was planning to become a nun?"

"Maura," he firmly stated her name. "Maura, look at me."

She drew in a deep, jagged breath and steeled herself; finally, she lifted her eyes to him. Everything they had done that night came pouring back and her knees grew weak. His eyes pinned her in place; those eyes that she had stared into so intently when they had made love. "Why are you here?"

"Answers to some questions."

"Answers? Answers to what?" she replied, agitated at the question.

"Am I the reason you're here?" he gestured around them. "The reason you've locked yourself away for life?"

One look, one word from him could bring her to her knees but she also had some pride. "You arrogant prick!"

"You—"

"You want answers?" Maura angrily interrupted. No one had known that the shy church mouse was a shape-shifter and her transformation had been sparked by Hunter Hearst Helmsley. In the past ten months, she had broken up multiple fights at the shelter, stared down two abusive husbands demanding the location of their fleeing wives and children, stopped a burglary with a tire iron and mace, argued against an unjust law against the homeless before the city council, and testified before the state senate on domestic abuse and needed resources. He didn't stand a chance against her.

"I didn't tell you my name because you didn't need to know it, especially if you were just going to throw it around like last night's conquest. Yeah, I lied about the Peace Corps but I wasn't about to be made fun of for my faith. My mind was made up long before you walked into my life that night. I left that hotel room and took the cab straight to the church and, if that makes me a disgusting person, then so be it."

Hunter had had enough of her patronizing tone. "So, _Sister _Maura—"

"Hell, no," she cut him off, the look of shock on his face. "First, I wasn't done. Second, it's not 'sister.' I didn't 'lock' myself away. I didn't complete the novitiate—I didn't join the sisterhood."

The wrestler had been staring off to the side, angry and frustrated with her, when she cut him off. With her last revelation, his head snapped up.

* * *

The decision had been incredibly hard but Maura had decided to become a Poor Clare despite the crisis that Triple H had incited. The Abbess said nothing of her appearance, the make-up, tight jeans, and high heeled boots, when Maura requested a moment to quickly say 'goodbye' to her sister. Martine's head snapped up when she heard her sister's heels clicking on the marble floor. "You're not coming with me," she sighed.

Maura shook her head. "It's not as if they're locking me away and I'll never see you again."

"I know," she replied, standing and holding out her arms to the younger woman. "I just think that there's more life out there for you than this."

Pulling away from the hug, Maura looked down at her outfit. "Everything I have on is yours but the shirt. I promise to get it all back to you."

"One question before you go," Martine asked, holding her sister's hand, and then dropped her voice. "Did you _really _have sex with Triple H?" Maura's mouth dropped open and then snapped shut. Her face flamed bright red. Her sister chuckled. "Good enough."

Martine saw right through her but if the Abbess or the sisters did, no one said a word. For the first few days, she thought of Hunter and their night too often. At the thought of confession, her stomach drew up in tight knots. Administrative concerns and settling in for those few days kept her busy and off the priest's radar but she could no longer avoid confession by the end of the week.

At first, she stared at the skirts of the novitiate habit, embarrassed to be in this situation. She had trouble breathing, admitting what had transpired. Her hands trembled just in memory of the night. Finally, like ripping off a band-aid, she blurted out the barest of essentials. There was silence for a few moments from the priest and Maura wanted to curl in on herself. Clearly, a reprimand was not necessary but the penance was not light. What made the penance so hard was the reflection on the sin. She was supposed to reflect on repentance and redemption but the sin itself was so difficult to not relive the pleasure.

It didn't help when her sister came to visit for the first time and rushed through the formalities of how she was doing and did she like it so far before asking in a conspiratorial whisper, "Details. Spill'em."

"I don't know what you mean," Maura replied, smoothing out her skirt.

"Yes, you do. How in the world did _you _get Triple H back to his hotel room?"

It wouldn't hurt to simply recount the events of the night from when he showed up at her table until they arrived at the hotel—she hadn't forgotten a single detail.

"And?" Martine giggled.

"Look, I'm paying a heavy penance for that night. Could you just leave it at that, please?" Maura begged, taking her sister's hands.

"Alright, Sissy. But one more thing. Was it worth it?"

Her eyes fluttered closed and she sighed, not a sigh of frustration but one of remembrance. "Yes," she breathed.

"I'll get the details one day," Martine said with a shit-eating grin. And she was right. But it wasn't until after Maura had left the monastery and temporarily stopped in with her sister.

At first, the Poor Clare candidate was restless at the monastery. She expected peace and satisfaction but it didn't come. It wasn't just the thought of Triple H intruding. She couldn't name it and didn't speak about it with her mentor or the Abbess, with whom she met regularly. She didn't dare mention to them how boring she found the read of saints' lives for the sake of choosing her new name upon entry into the sisterhood. It was the same thing over and over again—women martyred before they would give up their chastity, body parts cut off or ripped out, family disowning them…

But both her mentor and the Abbess sensed her restlessness and giving her work of a particular nature was their answer. The monastery had resources for social work through the Catholic Church but none of the women had any specialization in it like Maura. They employed two people outside of the monastery for the homeless shelter and staffed the rest of the positions with nuns and volunteers. The hoped-for family abuse center would also be headed by someone outside of the monastery. Yet, there was much to be done and Maura was the perfect one from among the Poor Clares when the opportunity arose for the monastery to weigh in on the city's laws against the homeless. She was once again the face when the monastery, with their small ministry against domestic violence, was asked to be involved in the state senate's budget consideration for such centers, as well as domestic violence legislation.

Something had changed within Maura and she threw herself into the Abbess' requests. She had the education and training and one step after another brought less fear in her work. That's not to say she wasn't terrified in speaking before the city council and state senate but the woman she was six months ago couldn't have been there at all.

Maura desperately needed the distraction, especially when her sister would stop in on Saturdays and give her the run-down of what happened in wrestling that week. It was like waving a line of cocaine beneath an addict's nose and then flushing it down the toilet. It wasn't that she was so hung up on Triple H but it was like getting over a break-up with a nosy friend feeding all the information of what your ex-boyfriend was doing.

It was customary to meet with the Abbess six months into the one year novitiate and discuss suitability of the candidate. The Abbess hardly minced words. She praised Maura for her work with the shelter and coming center and then bluntly stated, "You're not made to be a nun." Maura couldn't respond and the Abbess continued. "You've confused your vocation. God has not called you to the sisterhood. God has called you to social work."

"But I _am_ doing social work," she forcefully protested and then remembered her manners, dropping her eyes to clasped hands.

"Maura, I've done this a long time. You came here because you didn't know your vocation. You had terrible seminary teachers—don't tell them I said that. You were a caterpillar and your cocoon has been here. You are an advocate for the voiceless. You are an advocate for those people pushed aside, that no one _notices_." Those words caused her breath to catch. The older nun steepled her fingers and, with a sigh, plainly stated, "If you persist in the novitiate, I will not recommend your candidacy to the Church. So, this is what I suggest."

The Abbess detailed a plan for her to leave the monastery in the coming days. Martine had already been consulted—the Judas, thought Maura, at first—and would take her back in. The paid assistant director positions of the homeless shelter was coming available. While it was little pay, it would be something for the interim until the family abuse center opened. At which time, the Abbess wanted her to take the head director position.

"Go to your room, go to the garden, the chapel, somewhere and pray about this," the nun encouraged, waving her away. Maura nodded numbly and rose to blindly wander until she wound up in the garden.

It wasn't long before Maura was back at her sister's townhouse. She stayed a couple of months to save a little money before finding her own place and, within another two months, Triple H had waltzed back into her life.

She knew he would be in town on Monday but had not ever expected to run across him. She would be watching RAW on her refurbished laptop. She had been thinking about him more and more, knowing WWE was coming back in town. It would ache a little that he was just across town but that was life and she was moving on.

* * *

"Does that make you feel better? Lighten the guilt a little?" She didn't wait for him to answer, dropping her hands to hips. "How _did _you find me?"

"Deja Thornton," he answered, still trying to make sense of this different woman who now stood before him.

Maura blinked several times trying to process his answer. She and her sister hadn't spoken about Dejah for months. "She's still with Orton, then?"

"Yeah, everybody's surprised," he replied with a shrug.

"I'll be damned," she muttered to herself and then snapped, "You know why I lied and you're off the hook for guilt. Why _are _you here?"

"This isn't how I expected things to go," he said, apologetically, shaking his head, but she misheard his tone.

"What did you expect me to do? Renounce my vows and come running from the nunnery into your arms? Rescue me from this awful place?"

"I wouldn't have complained," he replied, before he realized what he had said.

"I'm sorry. Say that again," she asked, her arms dropping to her side and her head cocked.

"I want to see you again and again and again," he responded, running a frustrated hand through his hair and then gesturing at her. "Hell, if I could, I would throw you down right here, rip your clothes off, and—"

"Shhh!" she interrupted, heat creeping up her neck and cheeks. "I want to keep my job."

"Will you at least talk to me, about what made you change your mind, about…us?"

She glanced down at her watch. "I'm supposed to be here for a few more hours but I think I can get out of here. I can't leave with you. I'm not even supposed to know you."

"I'm not asking for a lot right now. Just meet me for coffee. I've got a rental car outside. I'll take you anywhere you want."

"I'm disgusting from lunch. I desperately need a shower and a change of clothes," she said, picking at spaghetti sauce stains at the knees of her pants. "Give me fifteen minutes. I'll meet you a block down and we can head back to my apartment…if you're comfortable with that."

"I said 'anywhere.'"

The plywood table was still between them and they both stared at each other for a moment, each waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, with a deep breath, she led the way back through the maze to the kitchen, neither of them speaking.

Once in the presence of others, Maura put on a big smile and held out her hand towards Hunter. "Thank you, again, sir." She almost faltered when he took her hand and her blood pounded in her ears. "We've completed our goal and I hope you'll think of us again."

The wrestler had barely turned towards the door before he nearly ran over Jahari. The kid held a printed page of the wrestler sporting the Heavyweight belt, seemingly still wet from the printer, and a white undershirt, probably the one he had had on under his uniform. He couldn't help but chuckle as he waved the kid over to a table to sign the items. "Got a camera?" The boy shook his head. "A phone?"

"Mom won't let me have one have until I'm thirteen."

"Go borrow Maura's." The kid ran faster than Hunter thought imaginable.

Maura, having heard everything, held out her phone wordlessly where she sat in the in the office she shared with the other assistant manager of the shelter. She quickly filled in the paperwork from the lunch shift and packed her satchel. A quick pass in the kitchen and a few words with the volunteers who had recently arrived secured the evening for the next manager. She found Sister Thecla and begged off, saying she wasn't feeling well, which was technically true. Racing pulse, flushed skin, dizziness—it wasn't a lie.

On the sidewalk, she stood for a few moments, trying to still her rapid heartbeat. She thought about bolting and leaving Hunter waiting—the fear of the unknown and the inability to control herself around him terrified her. Yet, she couldn't walk away from him.

Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of him leaning up against the silver sportscar. She preferred the tight jeans and black leather jacket but the gray suit still made her mouth water. He held the door open for her and then slid in the other side. The only words that passed between them were her directions to the apartment.

The neighborhood and apartment building didn't look to be the best of neighborhoods, so Hunter wasn't expecting much of her place. It was a studio apartment, the size of which he didn't fondly recall from his first days in the business. Yet, the décor was the quality of an interior designer and brightened the little place. She noticed him appraising her home as she dropped her satchel on the dinette table. "It's all my sister's doing. I gave her an extra key for emergencies and came home to this one day," she said with a shrug. "Sisters—God bless them."

"No kidding. Mine has kept me sane over the years," he honestly replied.

"I'll be a few minutes. Make yourself at home if you can," she offered apologetically, gesturing towards the loveseat and sofa chair. She shut the bedroom door behind her but started to reach back to lock it. She pulled her hands back, pondered what message it would send if he could hear the lock click in place, and then proceeded to strip and shower as fast as she could. She was surprised to find her body responding as if she was anticipating his touch. She wasn't a booty call; they had to talk before anything could happen. Yet, that didn't stop her from spritzing on some body spray that had "miraculously" shown up one day with a host of other items.

Maura and Martine had argued vehemently the day she had come home to find her sparse apartment looking like a magazine spread and her closet full of clothing that cost more than most annual salaries of Maura's clients. Martine made it clear that her income allowed such an indulgence and she received most of her own clothing _gratis _from the designers anyway. After the two had fought, Maura could give it all away and severely hurt her relationship with her sister or accept the gift that didn't really dent Martine's bank account all that much.

She resisted throwing on jeans and a t-shirt but chose trim black dress pants and white off-the-shoulder sweater, something that she thought wouldn't stand out if they went out for dinner. A small touch of make-up and earrings—who was she?—and she stepped out to find him perusing resale CDs she found at second-hand stores. "No Motorhead, sorry," she said, easing out of the door.

He turned to her, holding several CDs of classical music. He found her outfit sexier than if she was wearing a mini-skirt and mid-rift top. "I don't know anybody who still has actual CDs." She shrugged and came to take them from his hands and pop them in the small CD player. She smelled intoxicating and he had to resist pulling her to him. "No Dobie Gray. Didn't you say he was your favorite?"

"I've only been 'back on the outside' for four months and I guess I haven't found any of his CDs in the resale shops," she explained and settled on the loveseat, tucking her bare feet under her. He took her cue and settled in the sofa chair, moving his suit coat from the chair to the sofa arm.

They were quiet for a moment and then he broke the silence. "I don't know where to start. If you'll give me the chance, there'll be plenty of time to talk about everything but we have to start somewhere."

"I… I don't know…" she responded, drawing in her bottom lip. He wished she wouldn't do that as his insides tightened. She looked up, with a blank expression, and asked, "Are you hungry? It's a little early but I'll cook something." She hoped to stall and the way to man's heart was through his stomach.

"Yeah, sure," Hunter answered and she shot up off the loveseat. With a deep breath, he rose and followed her into the kitchenette. "I'll help."

She started to protest but gave in as she realized she was holding a chopping knife upright. Quickly setting it aside, she said, "I don't have much but this is my favorite." She had him start the risotto as she set ingredients on the small counterspace. There was little room to work and they bumped elbows occasionally and once she backed into him. Neither moved for a brief moment and then she murmured apologies and returned to preparing a salad. Tingles soared through their bodies with each of the little touches. As she dropped pancetta and chopped rosemary into a pan, he ran a hand up under her hair and placed a hand on her back. She jumped but he didn't move and she relaxed against him. "Smells good."

"A friend in Italy cooked this for me once."

"Favorite country to visit?" he asked, his handprint burning into her back.

"Easy. Italy for many reasons," she shrugged, continuing to stir the pancetta and rosemary, "the food, the history, the beauty of the land, the heart of Catholicism.

"UK. Mostly for the people."

"You're a 'people person,' aren't you?" she asked, turning around and leaning on the counter.

"What makes you say that?" he asked, assuming a similar posture.

"It's the way you have with people. It's not manipulation but…" Her words faltered and she held out her hand. "For lack of a better word, influence. You spend so much time on the road _with _people. I couldn't do it."

"But aren't you a 'people person' too? Isn't that what you do with the homeless shelter and abuse center?"

She nodded. "In a way, yeah. I just don't deal with as many people as you do, with fans, people watching your every move. I tried to hide away from people by going into a monastery." She chuckled. "I was actually kicked out." When his mouth fell open in shock, she couldn't resist a smirk. "Finish putting this together and I'll tell you."

Once seated at the table, she talked around forkfuls, explaining her retreat into failed monasticism. "So, in all reality, I didn't know I could do what I do and would enjoy it. To be honest, that much prayer and meditation was starting to bore me."

"Is it wrong that I find you sexy for getting kicked out of a monastery?" he asked with a wink and a lop-sided grin.

She laughed, a genuine sound that he wasn't sure he would hear from her again. "Why is it you do what you do?"

"You've not watched the DVDs?" he asked facetiously.

"I may be a wrestling addict but I stick within the show," she responded with a snobbish air, titling her nose up. "The behind-the-scenes stuff makes it lose some of its mystery, awe, and wonder."

"Do you really believe that bullshit that just came out of your mouth?"

"No," she laughed again. "I've been rather too self-absorbed to watch DVDs for a while. I've seen the best of your matches but, forgive me for missing out on your life story."

Hunter already knew she was a good listener from their first night. She made it all too easy to talk away when her eyes never strayed from him and she asked questions as he went.

Maura prodded him to continue, asking for more details as he talked. First, she could listen to him talk forever, which she actually found funny because she had often tuned him out in the ring for being boring before this past year. Second, she was procrastinating. She had a great fear that he had an ulterior motive for finding her. They had fallen into an easy companionship again, much like they had at the Irish pub. It could all come crashing down at any moment. The sexual tension had died down after they had settled at the table to eat but it had returned as they carefully danced around each other, touching here and there, most not accidental, as they washed and put up the dishes. For that one moment, she was glad to not have an automatic dishwasher.

There was no sense putting it off any longer and she gestured towards the living area. Again, he took the sofa chair and she settled on the loveseat, tucking her feet up under her. "I still don't know where to start off," she admitted and then apologized, "I'm sorry for bitching at you at the shelter."

"I went about things the wrong way," he replied and then, as an afterthought, added, "Aren't you not allowed to cuss like that?"

She blushed again. "First, I'm not a nun. Second, there's a lot of things Catholics aren't supposed to do and we do them anyhow."

He shifted in the seat and then asked, "What did you mean back at the shelter that I wasn't supposed to come looking for you?"

"I didn't expect that someone like you would care to see someone like me again. I'm a nobody and you're, well, you're _Triple H_," she gestured broadly at him and then tucked her hands against her body."What could I offer you that you can't find somewhere else? I was just a distraction, a warm body, sex for the night."

"First, I'm a person too. I'm someone who needs a listening ear and someone who cares. Second, you offered me something that I hadn't had in so long that I could hardly remember. I don't know how to describe it. You took me away from that world that was sucking away my soul, my ability to feel." He tried to explain what had led him out that night but it now sounded shallow. He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "You started out as a distraction and I regretted not asking if I could see you again before I put you in that cab. You stopped being a nobody long before we went up to my room."

Maura put a hand to her head to try to physically pull all her thoughts together. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. It was all beyond her wildest dreams and she had had quite a few in the dark, lonely nights in the past few months. Over dinner, she had let the thought that maybe he truly wanted to be with her to creep in. He sensed that she was having trouble with what he was saying and stopped speaking, waiting on her to respond.

"I didn't leave that club with you with the hopes of—of—you know. I didn't want to be there—I don't know how you knew that."

"Kindred spirits," he easily replied, leaning back into the seat.

"I wanted to leave and I won't lie and say I wasn't enamored by the fact that _you _had noticed me. Somewhere in there, you stopped being a wrestler and was someone who gave me one last night of being normal."

"You'll see me again?"

"We are so different. I already knew that but everything we've talked about so far reiterates that. We come from two different worlds," she explained. Part of her wanted to fling herself at him and trust his every word but she also didn't want to be hurt when the relationship couldn't work. It hurt bad enough trying to put aside their one night stand. "You make your living by being on TV. I don't even own a TV—I illegally stream wrestling online. Don't get me started on our disparate salaries. I'm rooted here—I have a commitment to St. Clare's. More than that, I want to keep the commitment now that I know what I'm supposed to do with my life. You live on the coast, constantly travel. I don't know how we make it work."

"We just do. For all that we're different, we're both old souls that made a connection too good to just pass up on because of these circumstances." She was waffling, unsure of his proposal. "Maura," he said, sending shivers down her spine with the way he said her name, and rose to settle beside her as best as possible in the small space. He raised her chin to look at him and took her hands, kissing them both. She was visibly affected. "I can give you everything."

"I don't want everything," she barely replied.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know. I'm content with what I have"

"Content with letting the possibility of us go?" he asked, leaning down to look into her downcast eyes.

"Everything was so simple this morning and now it's so ridiculously complex," she replied, frustrated, and pulled her hands away from his.

"Is this complex?" Hunter asked and leaned in to kiss her. It was just a brush of the lips but desire stirred within each other's core. Maura leaned in to him and the kiss deepened, his hands burrowing deep into her hair. Her self-control disappeared. Her arms circled his neck and she straddled him. He shifted to make room for her, his hands dropping down to her ass to shift her squarely in his lap. While their tongues entwined, his hot fingertips slipped under the edge of her sweater to touch burning flesh. She jerked in his arms and he immediately drew back and apologized, "I'm sorry."

The moment gave Maura a chance to pull herself back together. If they wanted to give any consideration to a relationship, one based on the Irish pub or tonight's dinner rather than a hotel room, they couldn't move this quickly. But, for both of them, it wasn't the scintillating conversation that continued to haunt their dreams over the months but each other's touch. She hadn't flinched when he touched her but her body involuntarily convulsed in shock at those hands for which she had yearned.

"Don't think that," she whispered, pulled the sweater over her head, and tossed it aside. Hunter paused for a moment to take her in and she was afraid she had made the wrong move. She reached for the sweater but he shook his head and ran his hands up her back and over her shoulders, her smooth skin breaking out in goose bumps.

The things they had done to each other's bodies that first night didn't stop the blush from creeping into her cheeks. To hide the blush, she unbuttoned the top buttons on his dress shirt and ran a hand inside, the taut flesh contracting against her fingertips. With a slight tremble, he gathered her hair to the side and unclasped her bra. She threw her head back and moaned as he took one breast in her mouth and his hand massaged the other. Her breasts had ached for his touch in those days after and she quivered beneath his ministrations. She involuntarily arched her back, pressing against him and rocking in his lap. She could feel his hard need beneath her.

Without question or doubt, Maura slipped from his lap when he paused and held her hands out to him. He rose and followed her into the bedroom. "Don't assume anything when," she explained, opening the drawer of the nightstand and removing a pack of condoms, "I pull these out. My sister thought it was funny to leave them there."

"Thank God for sisters," Hunter replied, hooking a finger in the waistband of her pants and pulling her to him. He kissed her again, long and slow, before leaving a hot trail of kisses down her neck and pausing at the juncture of her shoulder. "The things I've thought about doing to you," he said against her skin, eliciting a deep moan from the back of her throat.

"I'll take that as a promise," she replied, pulling him back to look into her clouded eyes. "But I want to feel you in me now…please."

Hunter grinned a devious smile, edging her down to the bed. The two of them quickly helped divest each other of their clothes. He covered her body with his, savoring the feel of their flesh pressed together from head to toe. He ran the back of his hand down her cheek and trailed his calloused fingertips down her neck, through the valley of her breasts, and to the apex of her thighs, leaving her breathless and the blood pounding in her ears. He slipped a finger inside her to find her more than ready and she pushed her hips against his hand. He nudged her thighs apart and slowly slid inside her.

Maura gasped, the memory hardly holding up to the actual moment. He buried himself as deep as possible inside her and she wrapped her legs around him. He wanted to disappear in the pleasure, the rest of the world melting away. They set a slow rhythm at first, reveling in the feel of how they fit together, her curves fitting into the grooves of his muscled body. Despite the desire to remain one, their urges pushed them faster and faster, reaching the heights of passion, melding them together, body and soul. Several hard thrusts later and they cried out each other's name before he collapsed beside her. She rolled over, her stomach against his side and one leg thrown over his.

They lay together panting, waiting for their heartbeats to still. When she could think again, Maura smiled against his chest and traced his jaw with her fingers.

"Favorite finisher?" Hunter asked, one hand lightly brushing the back of her neck.

"Branded or generic?" God, he could fall in love with this girl.

"Both."

"Generic—sit down powerbomb," she answered too quickly, running a finger down the middle of his chest. "Branded—Five Star Frog Splash."

"Favorite submission hold?"

"Branded—Walls of Jericho. Generic… hmmm….surfboard, maybe?"

"Damn, I can't get a break."

"You're asking the wrong questions." She rose up on her elbow to look him in the eyes. "Favorite wrestler to meet in a nightclub? Favorite wrestler to lie to? Favorite wrestler to scare the bejeebus out of you by showing up after ten months? Favorite wrestler to sleep with? Although…." She trailed off and looked away. "I bet Shawn Michaels is _really, really _great in bed."

"I take it all back. Everything I've said today," he chuckled, rolling over to pin her beneath him.

"I tap out!"

"That was quick and no fun," he pouted and carefully maneuvered himself to keep her beneath him but not crush her.

"I can think of better ways to have fun," she said with a devious smile and pulled him down to kiss him.

"We'll make it work, you know," he said, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than her.

"I know," she responded, her tone echoing his.

**Three Years Later **

They had indeed managed to make it work. The long absences made their time together sweeter. Every other week, sometimes more, they traded off with him visiting Chicago or her visiting Connecticut. They spoke every day, even if only for a few minutes. They fought little. Usually, they were too busy simply being together, relishing the little time they were given. It still took them a long time to say 'I love you' even though they probably fell in love that night in the Irish pub.

When they did argue, it was generally over his inability to hang up wet towels or her reluctance to attend shows with him. She went but with some persuading. She hated the attention and he loved to show her off. Their first major fight came when, without consulting her, he had a California king-sized bed delivered to her apartment. His rationale was that if he stayed with her, he needed to have something he could fit on. She felt as if he had to give her items she couldn't afford or wouldn't buy for herself. It would have gone easier if he hadn't brought up her moving to Connecticut in the same week. She was committed to her job, just like him, but she wasn't about to ask him to give up the WWE for her. It didn't take much to smooth over the argument.

Now, nearly three years later, Maura stood surveying her little, empty apartment. She was moving to New York City to join the Congress' Commission on Domestic Violence. Hunter's network had opened other networks to her and she learned of an opening for junior staffer on the Commission. The headquarters were in New York due to the Congresswoman heading up the Commission being from the city. It was easier and wiser for her to run its work from her hometown. Surprisingly, the Abbess of St. Clare's encouraged her to apply for the position, seeing the honor as one of influencing national policy on a serious issue. The icing on the cake was being within less than two hours' drive from Hunter. They had talked again about moving in together but the conversation was tabled until after she settled in at her new job.

The little Chicago apartment held quite a few memories. It was the place of her independence, where she finally came into her own. She broke her first bone there…while tripping on her first pet she owned as an adult. Her adopted black-and-white kitten Perpetua, named after the saint, and nicknamed Pet, ran under her feet in an attempt to attack the older cat that she just couldn't leave behind at the pet shelter, a charcoal male missing an eye and an ear. She was learning just what a sucker she was. Old Tom acted like her only baby and Pet attached herself to Hunter like he was the savior of the world. He became a cat person far faster than he would have liked, especially since Pet slept on top of him when they were together.

Of course, the apartment was the place where Maura and Hunter found each other again. Her fear that they wouldn't last didn't dissipate quickly, so much so that she didn't even tell her sister Bout them. She chuckled to herself at just how Martine found out about them. It had been over two weeks since Hunter had left Chicago after hunting her down and he was back in town. Despite it been sixteen days—she had counted—Maura inwardly promised she would keep her hands to herself. She closed the door behind him at the apartment and it was like magnets. They were instantly in each other's arms, pulling off clothes as they tried to make their way to the bedroom. They made it as far as the couch before they were naked and she pushed him down on the couch. With no argument, he reached for her and she settled in his lap and around him. They paused, both sighing heavily. She slowly moved against as he took one breast in her mouth and rubbed his thumb over the other.

In the throes of ecstasy, neither heard the lock turn and the door open before the screeching exclamation, " .God!" Maura whipped her head around to see her sister, staring with her mouth agape, her shopping bag hitting the floor, but thankfully she held on to the plant in her other arm.

In utter shame and panic, Maura slid from Hunter's lap, pulling the blanket on the back of the couch over them. "Holy fucking hell," Martine exclaimed when she realized who her sister was screwing, "You were supposed to be at work." She pointed at both of them. "You two have two minutes to get your shit together," she waved her hand around, "and then I'm coming back in and I want to hear an explanation." It didn't matter who was dating her _little _sister, even it was Triple H himself; this was her little sister—plus, Maura had kept a secret this awesome from her and that wasn't about to go away lightly. Martine's excitement gave way quickly after bitching out the couple.

Maura's eyes swept across the apartment one more time, engrossed in her reminiscing. She didn't hear Hunter come up behind. "You okay?" he asked, running a hand up under her heavy hair. "I thought you were behind me."

"I'm good. I'm just thinking about what I'm leaving behind," she replied, turning around to face him.

He kissed the tip of her nose. "But think of what you're doing next. New York City….me…" He grinned and she pulled him down for a long kiss.

"I know," she replied, smiling against him, and then turned to shut the door behind her for the final time.

FINI! (Really this time!)

*Title taken from Frank Sinatra's "Strangers in the Night."


End file.
